


Sacred Green

by TheGreatLilya



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: After the end of the game, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Link follows, Midna gets light-sick, Midna leaves, Mute Link, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, implied gore, zelda frets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4139187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatLilya/pseuds/TheGreatLilya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the final battle against Ganondorf, Link is greviously wounded, the Hylian monarchy is in shambles, and castle town is in ruins. Midna lingers for a time, but she knows the decision she must make. Both he and she do.<br/>And so after years in the comforting gloam of the twilight, the last thing she expects is to see him again. But it's not Him she sees. Not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The crimson was jarring against the green, lush and fabled. Heroic- although, the thought that anything but his soul made him fit that word drew a snort of derision from her.

Stupid, brave, proud beast.  
Their hands were shaking to see him brought so low. They'd never seen him like this. She had. She'd seen the red gape of deep wounds, and the steady drip of hot blood. She'd seen the nights full of fevers and terrors, and the days full of pain and anxiety.

The bar was in a disarray, empty of patrons as usual. How that woman kept the place open, she had no idea. The scholar -Shad?- swept books and maps off the table without a second thought. The blood dripped onto their splayed pages, ruining the ink and the words and the contours.  
"Fuck," snarled the warrioress. Ashei. A woman she thoroughly approved of. "He's losing too much blood."  
"Pressure on the wound. Come on now, you know how to do this." The older swordsman said, but his tone was too harsh for his words to be calming.

The green clothes were cast aside; shield, gear, pouches, and the sword. Even the sword. It hit the ground with a dull clank.

In the final battle, he had been struck terrible blows, one after the other. He was thrown from his horse time and time again, the Princess told her.  
Midna had seen death. She had seen gore. Seen evil and pain. She had never seen this.  
"He'll live. Even talk again in time, if his throat heals. It'll leave a nasty scar, though."  
She wished he had died. Castle town was now full of the homeless and wounded. The castle was gone. She could practically smell anarchy in the air- in both worlds, now. Hers and his.

So, the next step was logical.

And while he wheezed and bled and wept, she and Zelda sat quietly in the dark corner of the tavern, and spoke. And the die of the fates was cast.  
Link healed fast, but he could not find his voice, nor breathe without a rattling wheeze. It sounded like death. Midna wept for him, and his world, and for herself. Before, she could exist easily in the light. She was small and deft, and there was always enough shade to go around. After Zelda's blessing, she didn't even need that scant shade. But now, the sunlight was hell. It sapped her strength and filled her tall body with sickness.

Link tried everything. He was angry and frantic, and without a voice. She knew that they'd drawn the same conclusion the day after he woke.  
He had guards carry parasols for her, had smoked glass put in the windows of her chambers. When that failed, he had them boarded up. When still she coughed and shuddered, he had the remaining castle dungeons scrubbed spotless, torn up turned into an underground palace for her.The darkness was a balm, but the thickness of the air made her restless. With every day, Link saw the resolve grow in her eyes, and she saw the terror grow in his.

In truth, it had been his idea to journey to the mirror chamber. She walked the streets in the dead of night, and in Telma's bar, watched him signing frantically at Shad. The scholar looked both intrigued and frightened. The idea was that they might create a stable doorway, a constant portal.   
And maybe, a year or so ago, that would have been okay. Light and dark could finally have met, mingled. She could have stayed here with him, while the light bleached her skin to his pale complexion. While it ebbed at her height and sapped her magic. Soon enough, the sickness would end.

Midna had seen it. She'd watched them in the close darkness of her chambers. The magic of her tribe was far reaching and strong.  
They would have laid, entwined in the heat of the summers. And after some time, there would have been a child. Blonde and light like the dawn, but with her own crafty, orange eyes.   
But that future was gone, now. Folk remembered the twilight, and were frightened. They hated her shade, her people. They hated her; she was the sum of these things.

"The grief will destroy him."  
"An open gate will destroy both of our worlds. The light needs him. You'll lose control of Hyrule if I take him, or if he follows me."  
"And you cannot abandon your people."  
"No. I cannot."  
"It'll be done, then."  
She and the princess had spoken at length about it before then. This was the last of their conversations.

That night, as they camped under the stars of the desert, Link came to her. He was silent and hot, hot like the sun she wished to linger under. His hair was soft, and his skin was soft, and his kiss was firm and jubilant.  
It crushed her. He thought he had won.  
She was selfish and cruel. In the darkness, she pretended that he had. That her skin would grow ever paler, and her magic ever fainter, and that the days would be warm and the nights forever silent and hot and soft.

At twilight, they advanced to the mirror chamber. The plan was for her to enter and exit the portal, so that Shad might see how it reacted and take necessary notes. Link sat on the far wall, watching her, eyes soft and amused.  
She must have looked splendid; sad and ethereal and whole in her natural light.  
The crimson of the desert sunset was jarring against the green cloaking him. Lush. Fabled. She drew up her magic, and it ached. She reached and took her tears from her eyes, and looking away, pushed it towards the mirror.  
Link stood up.  
"I'll... I'll see you later." She whispered.  
She walked into the churning portal. She heard his yell, broken and grief stricken and raw. She knew in that moment, as the twilight swept her away like the cooling desert wind, he would never heal.

On her knees, she could not move from where she came out of the portal. She gasped in the air in the realm like she had been drowning. She stretched and tore aside her Hylian garmemts as her skin soaked in the light. She curled up and wept. There was no portal behind her, yet she knew. She knew. His anguish vibrated in her bones and made her spirit burn. She knew.  
She knew his eyes and his blood and his taste, and his heat.  
And the ground here was cold.  
It was so, so cold.


	2. The Note

_Link was awake, if not active._   
_He was thinking._   
_Calculating._

_.... **She** had always admired his purity. His ability to do the right thing. Always take the right path._   
_Even if it was longer. Steeper. More dangerous._   
_He had fought for this world. For the light and the dawn. He had taken up the mantle of the hero, worn the proud green._   
_He had taken the longer path, perhaps the longest of all._   
_He had walked and walked, and bled, and fallen in love._

_After that day... The darkness had been growing like a tumour._   
_Something had gone wrong._

_Something he had to put right._

 

The screaming, she decided had been the worst part.

After Midna left, he had screamed. 

He had screamed in a way she had not herd even during the Battle. Even after blow after terrible blow, of the sword biting deep into his flesh and bruising him, and heavy booted feet breaking his ribs, he had made no such noise.  
The usurper had swung the sage's sword hard and fast, ripping through Link's guard and into his throat mere moments before the hero landed the finishing blow. He had been silent.

Hours had been spent meticulously sewing flesh. Days applying ointment, guiding flustered and mindless fairies.

He had undone it in one afternoon.  
He would never speak again, clarified Shad quietly.  
"His vocal cords have been damaged beyond repair... Perhaps one day, he'll be capable of hoarse noises. Probably not speech."  
She looked away. What in the name of the gods was she to do now? Control was gradually being established again, after hours of writing to neighbouring kingdoms, of fighting down rebellions, of handing out blankets and food and healing... And still the dead far outnumbered the living. The population of castle town had been more than halved. Her hero would never be the help she so needed. He would be forever silent.

He had undone the good work on his throat, ripped asunder neat stitches.   
He didn't speak now. He watched. He glared.   
His steps, rare though they were, had become heavy with his heartbreak, and carried with them the air of a pacing wolf.

Something had gone wrong.

Zelda wasn't an oracle or a witch. She could not pick out the threads of fate, could not define what was correct and not. But somehow, she knew this was all wrong.  
And it was. It was so, so wrong.

He had screamed in a way she didn't think him capable of. He wept like a child, and the force of his grief had driven him to his knees.

She didn't know the hero. Barely knew his name when he risked his life for her. She didn't know his fears, or his loves and secrets, or the mannerisms that made up the man inside the tunic.  
She didn't know the story of the scars on his body. Of the coolness in his eyes and the crispness of his voice. She had known him only as Salvation, and the last flame in the darkness.

Even as she struggled to understand what this sudden responsibility she bore towards him was, she watched him waste away.

So resilient before, he now took no food or water. He lay only quietly on his own, and wounds that had begun to heal so fast steadily deteriorated.

It was like a terrible fiction, really.

Between the long, fraught meetings to try and garner some financial aid for Hyrule, she often slipped up to his quarters. He was always as the servants had last left him- somewhere in the room, pale and thin, in basic clothing or undressed.  
They had shorn his hair short after a particularly violent episode of grief. Now he simply looked haunted.

Today he was staring out of the window, heavy bags under his eyes, knees drawn to his chest. If it wasn't for his steady breathing, she'd have assumed him dead.  
"Won't you eat?"  
No reaction.  
She paused, and nudged the silver plate of soup and bread closer to him.  
"...Food and fresh water have been secured, for a time. I'm hopeful that once we can fight down the epidemic, Castle town can be rebuilt." She begins, quietly.  
She doesn't know why she's talking, exactly, other than she needs to fill the silence. She has to.  
"Maybe, one day, we can put the destruction behind us." She sighs. She stares at him for a few minutes, and then leaves.

 

Today, he is in his bed. He's curled on his side. All of the mirrors in the room are broken, and his fists bandaged.  
"I brought you some fresh fruit today. First that's been in the capital since it fell." She says hopefully too him.  
Last night's blood has been cleared away, now. It frustrates her that she's never present when he's like that. When he throws his fits. If she could see anything, some sign of him moving, then maybe she'd be alright. Maybe she could try to let go of the odd burden he's placed on her shoulders.  
"It's going very well. The outlying towns are trading with us, and the other nations. Soon, we will be able to properly rebuild. I'm Excited to oversee it."  
She sits with him a while today, the fruit on her lap. She eats one of the apples, and then leaves.

 

Today, he's in the corner of the room. The fits of paranoia are getting worse, apparently. The healers are beginning to wonder if it's something more serious- a curse, perhaps. She has little time for his empty gaze today, and curtly sits down his tray of bread and cheese.  
"I have not had a good day, today."  
He does not move.  
"A visiting dignitary was assassinated. Her country have withdrawn their aid. We cannot feed everyone."  
When there's still no reply, she scowls, and takes the food away this time.

Today, he's under the bed. It's the first time she's witnessed any active behaviour since Midna.  
He's under there, curled in the darkness, tugging at his short hair.  
She hopes that they don't cut it again.  
This time, she sits the food down without a word. The silence earns a look from him, an imploring, questioning look. She freezes for a second, before he lowers his darkened eyes and curls tighter.  
She takes the food this time, too.

Today, he's in his bed again.  
They've shorn his hair and bandaged his wrists. But now, his eyes follow her as she crosses the room, and deposits watery stew by his bedside.  
"It's all we have." She says dryly.  
He pauses for a moment, but west his lips thirstily and makes the decision to reach out and take the bowl. He gulps the stew down, eyes aware and alive for the first time in weeks. Of course, he'd eaten food here and there, when he nearly starved or began to pass out, but never anything Zelda brought him. Today though, he takes it in long, greedy swallows, not allowing the waste of drips escaping down his chin. Zelda watches him, tired and angry- angry because now he chooses to move, when it's too late and the city is dropping onto awful decay. And because the weight of him on her shoulders, on her conscience, is just as crushing as ever.  
She left him there, licking at the bowl for every last drop like some kind of beast.

Today, he was standing.  
She saw for the first time the true extent of his weight loss. He was lean and muscled when she saw him fight the usurper, relatively short but with an unmistakable bulkiness and presence. Now, he's weak. He's skinny, and barely present. There's a hint of previous gravitas as he stands, looking at himself in one of the broken mirrors. But something has fundamentally changed. He looks at Zelda, and quirks his head; enquiring as to her presence, apparently. She leaves the food on the table beside the door, letting the soup slosh over the edge of it's bowl, purely to irritate him.

For several days, she doesn't visit. But as she exits one of the councils between the remaining friendly governmental representatives, a well groomed healer catches her attention.  
"My lady- he's asking for you."  
"Asking for me?"  
"Yes. He specified I should give you this note."  
He proffers a small, neatly folded piece of white paper to Zelda. She takes it after a moment of consideration, unfolding it briskly.

_Thank you for stew._   
_Have recommendations on aid council, know many locations where food can be grown and citizens relocated._   
_Would much appreciate clothes, old equipment, writing quills and paper._   
_Please visit when convenient,_   
_Link._

Zelda scowls at the letter, and thrusts it back into the hands of the healer before stalking off down the hallway. Now he decides to play nicely? Now he's come to? That the _fuck_ is going on?


	3. Whispers

_The whispering had never really stopped. Only grown fainter._

_There were secrets in Arbiter’s grounds. Secret places, among the crumbling ruins and the shifting sands.  Link knew, remembered. How could he forget the bite of a thousand scarabs, the cloying sweetness of rotted flesh and disease? The rattle, the creak of old bones, the screaming. Nowhere on his travels had tested him like that place. Before, he had been burnt, bitten, almost drowned on several occasions as he dragged himself through every sorry, darkened crevice of Hyrule. But the only place that had truly disturbed him, that seemed to wrench him away from the courage that made him strong, was that forsaken prison. The same thing that drove him to crawl deliriously away from the crumbling bricks, dying, now whispered in the night, and drew his dreams inexorably back. Back across the baked sands, under dusty ridges of yellow-red rock. To those old, haunted stones. To the heat of the desert._

 

 _Zelda. It’s good to see you.  
_ “You’re awake.”  
_Yes._  
“I brought what I could find of your things. I regret to tell you that much of it has been returned to the temples. We hadn’t expected you to recover enough to use them. I thought it best that they await the next hero.”  
Link pinches the bridge of his nose slightly, a harsh swell of annoyance shattering his focus. It takes him a few seconds to calm down enough, and continue writing on the parchment he’s handing to Zelda each time he needs to say something. She’s come to his quarters, finally, three days after she received his letter.  
“The Zora Tunic was returned to Prince Rallis, the Hero’s Bow to the gorons, and the Gale Boomerang back to the forest. In fact, I think most all of your equipment was returned aside from the Dominion Rod, and your second clawshot.  
_And the Master Sword?_  
“In the Sacred Grove.”  
Link heaved a sigh. His room was small and broken up from his… Less than calm moments. He wanted daylight, open spaces. Wind in his hair, his fur. Zelda sat across from him at the table, watching him with guarded eyes. There was no trust there. And he supposed this was fair. He had done nothing to prove himself after Midna left. And from what he heard, the kingdom sorely needed him.  
“Tell me about these locations you know of.”  
_If you keep people in the city, it will never be rebuilt. They create debris just by living. The waste is why there is disease, so you must move them out. At least for a time. Ordona is Rich, full of life and fresh water. Lead a group of refugees into the woods and start camps there. You’ll need craftsmen to build bridges to reach the sacred grove, but that will house a great portion of them._  
“Rudimentary rope bridges already exist. I’ll have them reinforced. What else?”  
_The banks of lake Hylia. And there is a village, some way across the Bridge of Eldin that will house hundreds._  
“The village sounds promising.”  
_I can guide you there. As can Darbus of the Gorons._  
“I’ll send a runner. Anywhere else?”  
_….You will need to sow crops._  
“Yes. Eventually.”  
_And there are no seeds._  
“Very few.”  
_There are seeds, dried seeds, deep in Arbiter's grounds. And scrolls that tell ways of planting, of irrigating parched soil._  
She considers this, but before she can answer, he continues writing. _With your permission, princess, when my health is regained and your people are settled, I would venture there._  
She looks up at him. The suspicion in her eyes is deep, but she is desperate enough for his help, and yields. “Very well.”

 

 _“Link, what are you doing? Look at your map, there’s nothing down here. We have everything we need! We need to get to the mirror chamber.”_  
_“No, can’t… Can’t you hear it?”_  
_“Hear what, Link? There’s nothing there!”_  
_**Nothing there. Nothing here either, Midna.**_  
_“There’s… I can hear voices. People talking. Maybe someone-”_  
_“How could someone be trapped down here? It’s been abandoned for centuries, not even the Bulblins come inside here.”_  
_The corridor looked to be safe, the dusty old bricks even, though cracked here and there and lit with flickering oil lamps. No running sand, no rattling skeletons. But distant voices, instead, like people shouting. For help? **For help, yes. You were right.**_  
_“Wh-where are you going! Dumbass- stop that! Link!” she shouted. His boots made barely a noise with the covering of dust on the floor. The end of the corridor was in darkness, and he found his fingers reaching for his lantern and matches. There was a wall, in the darkness. Barely visible, like a phantom, waiting, watching._  
_“LINK! WHAT ARE- STOP!”_  
_**Don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop.**_  
_Somehow, even then he had known that this was important. Monumentally so. Some part of him, privy to the secrets of time and magic, was urging him on._  
_“The… The voices, they’re…”_  
_His hands were shaking too badly to light the lantern. He dropped it._  
_“Please- please, link, let’s go back- we can go back to the city, leave the desert, just-”_  
_**No.**_  
_“No.”_  
_“Please!”_  
_His hand, shaking with violent tremors, rose to touch the ancient stone._  
_It was cold, cold as ice, and hard as metal. The edges were sharp, thirsty, and sated as he ran his fingers along the grooves of carved runes to read them in the shadows. His fingers burned, sliced open but prickling as though the words were acid. His bones itched, the voices loud in his ears now- screaming, begging in foreign languages, sobbing. Women, men, children._  
_The letters filled out with his blood, and he couldn’t look away. There had been no mercy- the early ways, the early ways in-_  
_**Into the shadows, yes, I know-**_  
_They were barbaric- the bones- the dead were not prisoners, they were-_  
_**Sacrifices, hurry up and-**_  
_And slaves, they were forced, stolen-_  
_**Slaughtered. How many?**_  
_Thousands._  
_**Is that what it will take?**_  
_This place is blighted. It’s too great a toll- no wonder nothing grows here, there’s-_  
**_Is this the price of peace?_  
**

_Midna had dragged him away after that. It took weeks of bitter medicine and Renado’s ministrations to restore him before they could finish the job and get to the mirror chamber._

_The screams had turned to whispers; but never stopped._


	4. Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! Here's the next chapter. But before you get started, I wondered if any of you regulars, who don't mind spoilers, might fancy chatting to me about the direction of the story? Hit me up if you fancy it :) I could do with a sounding board. ~Rhi

Epona was the only thing on his mind when he first left the palace. Where was the mare? Was she being kept, protected? The horse could hold her own, and there was plenty of grazing in Hyrule. But with neither hero nor mysterious wolf to keep down the monster population, diminished as it was with the lack of evil, she may have been in danger. Tired out even from the walk to the eastern edge of Castle Town -past the sick, and the starving, and the dead- he was in no mood to find his horse was herself emaciated and weak. He jammed his fingers into his mouth, less calloused than he could recall them ever being in the past year, and whistled.  
The notes were sharp and clear.  
It was blissful to make some sound, some noise of his own. His voice was entirely gone, something that had haunted him upon his waking. He could sign, but many people did not understand the language, and was his knowledge of it deep enough to convey his ideas and thoughts. The frustration was unparalleled, like trying to make a carving with nought but a hammer.  
There was a long silence when the notes faded in the brisk spring air. He drew in a second breath, but as he readied himself, the wind carried a loud, excited whinny and the thunder of great hooves over the crest of the nearby hill. She threw up dust and chunks of earth in her hurry to reach her master, gone for weeks, months, and reared in excitement when she drew near, stopping to bow her head and rub against him. His noise of distaste at her weight against his still bruised ribs came out as nothing but a slight rasp, but the horse still withdrew. She was strong and proud as ever, mane well brushed, though unsaddled. _Illia. Of course_ .  
He kissed the horse between her eyes, stroking her neck. _I missed you, my friend. It would seem you're all that I have now_ .  
He looked at her eyes, seemingly placid and starkly Equine. But when he had stroked the earth with his own paws instead of relying on her hooves, he had spoken with her, and she had been wiser than he could ever have given credit for. _You and I must take a ride soon. Not for fun, for business. Fun will come later, when I can move around without these damned ribs ruining my breath._  
Zelda had prepared the first people bound for the village- carpenters and the like, to make it fit and ready for the refugees. Link was to guide them and their carts there in two week's time, and escort people back and forth as needed. But for now, he walked slowly with Epona, and wincing, laid back on a patch of flowers some way from the gate. The horse stood close by, grazing, as if not prepared to let him out of her sight.  
_I ought to make some rounds once I get out._ He thought to himself. _Visit Ordon, Kakariko, and then up the waters to see Ralis._ But this gave him pause.  
How would he get upstream without M--  
Without her?  
_Wasn't there that girl, what was her name... Iza? Who had boats. There was a Zora that would carry them upstream. Perhaps that would do it. and… I need books. The mansion at Snowpeak had a large library, but then, it will be nigh on inaccessible. I should start with Shad._  
He got up, stretching as far as his achy body would allow, and drew from his pocket a scrap of paper. He wrote a short note on it with some charcoal, kept on his person at all times now, and then rolled it tight before knotting it into Epona’s mane. Illia would find it, and it was light enough not to fall loose.

_Doing fine, bruised but healing. Thanks for looking after her. -Link_

  


“Well, Link, the palace library was destroyed in the explosion. I’m not sure what to tell you. Surely you’re more wise to Hyrule’s secret caches of knowledge than I am.” Shad signed the words as he spoke, as easy a way for Link to learn as any.  
‘Not easy. In snow-mountain, desert.’ He clumsily signed in reply.   
“Yes, difficult.” Agreed Shad, subtly showing link the proper word. “Well, I know of some books that remain. What are you researching?” He wearily sat down at the table in the back of Telma’s, still sanding only because of the fact it was sunken into the ground.  
‘No business of you. Give me books.’   
“Don’t get sharp with me, they’re from my personal collection. Either you tell me, or I’ll be forced to supervise.”  
Link sighed -he could still do that- and knowing that he couldn’t tell the scholar the truth, lied as smoothly as he was able. ‘Up-river ways… Fight current? Open zora trading. People need water.’   
Shad looks at him, suspicious, but nods. “Zelda says you have a bit of a fixation on irrigation and water at the moment, on plants. Thinking of taking up botany?”   
“Pfft.” Link huffed out loud, and rolled his eyes. ‘Is something to do.’   
Seems like Zelda bought his excuse for the trip to the desert. She had been there the day he lost… lost her. Lost his courage and his inner peace. Surely she was not so oblivious to the significance of the place? She was an intelligent woman, to have gotten the kingdom this far in the face of such wrack and ruin. Intelligent enough to see through him, that was for sure. He was gutsy, if not courageous any longer, for green was his colour. But Zelda? She was the serenity of Nayru, forever cloaked in sapphire.  
But that didn’t matter. For now, he had to rely on his own power, and the love of his own goddess. Farore would protect him, if only he had the strength to don the green again. Sacred, fabled. He would borrow his books later, once Shad's suspicions had waned. Soon, it would be time to set out.

And two weeks later, set out was what he did. The tunic was the first thing he got back, out of his many belongings. The tunic and the belts and straps, and the pouches, and his hat. His well worn leather boots, supple from use, and the soft woolen leggings. It felt like home to sink back into them. They were warm, and a comforting weight on his shoulders. The hat made him feel less self conscious about the hair, too; short and dull brown, not it’s usual blonde from endless days in the sun. It was neatly sewn and repaired by some attentive set of hands, whole and as well kept as the first day it had been it on.  
He felt like he was breathing for the first time since that night, under the stars. The earth shifted under him, and Epona lurched forward, her hooves steady and beating hard against the earth. The craftsman called in annoyance at his sudden gallop towards the horizon, but he didn’t have it in him to resist the call of the winds. It was freedom unlike he’d felt in months, and it brought something of his old self back. He barrelled across the field with nothing to stop him but the dull groan of his ribs, and letting go of the reigns, threw his hands into the air.   
“You can’t kill me!” he shouted- _At who? The world?_ “You can’t! Nothing can stop me!”   
Or at least, he tried to shout. The defiance was silent, but no less strong, no less poignant with meaning and promises.   
“Nothing will stop me.” He repeats, slowing Epona as she approached the far edge of the field, far from any eyes.  
_I won’t stop, not ever. I’ll do whatever it takes._

_I’ll pay any price._

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys, first Fanfic I've actually posted on here! Go ahead and leave a comment or what have you, I'll try and reply to any queries you have. Suggestions and criticism are welcome! :D thanks for reading ~


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